Downfall
by labellebeaucoup
Summary: Fitz meets Olivia during his campaign for governor. Can their budding friendship turn into something more?
1. Chapter 1

**A/N – This is a somewhat AU story. While Fitz isn't running for president, he is running for governor of California when he meets Olivia. I'm not sure if I will have Fitz run for president in this story and if I do, it would most likely be in a sequel. **

**For anyone unfamiliar with my writing, I tend to find songs that either inspire me during my writing process or that I feel have a strong connection with what I am writing. These songs become part of the story's "soundtrack" that I later post on my facebook or twitter – both links are on my profile. **

**This particular story was inspired by a couple that I know and the song that I felt connected the most with it was "Be My Downfall" by Del Amitri. – G.**

* * *

_Downfall_

_Chapter One: Things We Know We Shouldn't Do_

"We really need to start hitting some of these cities hard; getting your name out there and letting people become familiar with your face," Cyrus Beene announced to his boss, Fitzgerald Grant III.

"We need to show the people normalcy. They're upset with Ryan because of all the scandals that have taken place during his _**entire **_first term. They want a normal, American family," Mellie Grant spoke up, smiling at her husband of eighteen years.

"Mellie's right," Fitz grinned back, "We should have pep rallies, debates, all the normal stuff, but we also need to plan _normal, _**everyday **American activities."

"I'll work on the pep rallies and debates. You and Mellie can work on the other." Cyrus grabbed the large, black folder on the desk in front of him. It was stuffed and dwarfed the older man. He had devoted the majority of his time to this campaign, putting his life into getting Fitz successfully through this campaign and gaining Cyrus himself a place as a top aide to the person he believed to be the future governor.

"Cyrus, don't you think we should coordinate?" Mellie pointed out, standing from her chair and heading in the direction that Cyrus had headed calling behind her to Fitz, "Don't forget to pick Jerry up from daycare!"

Fitz watched as his wife and friend exited the room. They had both instantly become more invested in this campaign than he had. He wanted to be governor, but he didn't seem to want it as much as they did.

He slowly stood and turned to grab his jacket. He slung it over his shoulder, it was warm out and he didn't feel like sweating any more than he already had. He felt his phone buzz in his pocket as he headed toward the exit. He checked the white, slim phone that seemed to control his life. Mellie had texted a reminder to pick the baby up.

Fitz laughed. She never had trusted him with Jerry and thought she had to leave notes around the house, reminding him that the baby needed fed every two hours and to check his diaper. He hadn't expected that from Mellie. He never pegged her to be the maternal type. He figured that she was either shockingly maternal or that she didn't want to deal with the scandal a dead child would bring. He still wasn't entirely sure of the answer.

When he stepped outside, the bright sun shone harshly, warming his skin and causing him to shield his eyes. He hoped he had a pair of sunglasses in the silver Mercedes-Benz parked in the driveway. If not, it would be a painful twenty minute drive to Jerry's daycare. He briskly walked to the vehicle and climbed in, turning the keys in the ignition and cranking on the a/c before searching for his sunglasses.

After finding a pair in the center console, he slid them on his face and put the car in reverse, quickly spinning out of the drive and onto the highway. He fumbled with the radio station, annoyed at the amount of traffic on the roads. He switched through several stations before growing frustrated and turning the radio off.

He relaxed some when he finally found himself outside of the city limits and well on his way to the small, suburban town that held Jerry's daycare. His grip on the steering wheel loosened and his breathing became even, deeper once more. He despised driving in the crowded lanes of Sacramento.

He began humming "Livin' On a Prayer" to himself; having finally found a station that he was okay with. Rain began falling in a slow, deliberate pattern as he continued west; adding some gloom to the otherwise beautiful day. As he was passing a large, fenced in high school that resembled a prison more than a school, he noticed a cobalt blue Challenger sitting on the side of the road.

He turned the hazard lights on in his vehicle and slowly eased in behind the Challenger. It couldn't harm his image to help a stranger in need. He put the vehicle in park and climbed out, slamming the door behind him. He neared the car, noticing that the back tire was flat.

A young, dark-skinned woman stood by the trunk, her arms crossed and mud splattered on her pale blue dress pants. She glanced at Fitz, jamming her hands in her pockets and watching the older man for any indication of foul play.

"Need some help?" He offered, shuffling toward her and sticking a hand out, "Fitz and you are?"

"Olivia." She shook his head and brushed a thick, lock of black hair from her eyes. She glanced from the deflated tire to the man in front of her and back.

"If you don't mind," She finally answered, deciding to take a chance on this stranger who had stopped instead of sped past her like so many others before him.

"Do you have any tools?" She moved out of the way and popped the trunk for him, allowing him to grab the bag full of basic necessities for this task. He searched around the trunk a little longer than she expected it to take and she began to get nervous about allowing him to help.

"Can I help you find something?" She took a step closer, trying to peer around his shoulder.

"Do you have a doughnut in here?" Her eyes widened and a snort escaped her lips. She wasn't familiar with the maintenance of vehicles, but felt certain that asking for a doughnut was an odd request.

"A doughnut?" She repeated, waiting for him to correct her. When he nodded, she bit her lip and looked in the trunk once more. She searched for several moments, coming up empty handed with a look of confusion that eclipsed that of hers moments ago.

"A spare tire?" Fitz finally elaborated, taking pity on her. Her mouth formed an 'o' as she pointed to the round circle of rubber that lay on the other side of the vehicle. She had already dragged it out and was planning on replacing the blown tire with that one when she realized that she didn't know how.

"Perfect." He stood the tire on its side and began rolling it toward the right side of the vehicle. Olivia followed behind, struggling to carry the large bag of tools that Fitz had dragged from her trunk. She watched as he rolled the sleeves of his white dress shirt up his arms and began going to work on her tire.

She watched and handed tools as he asked for them. Other than a misunderstanding about the difference between a tire wrench and a wrench; the two were able to change the tire without much of a problem. Fitz helped her place the tools and the blown tire in her trunk, slamming it shut and wiping the palms of his hands on his pants. Mellie would have a fit when she noticed that he had ruined another pair of pants, but it didn't bother him.

"Thank you," She grinned, extending her hand to shake his once more.

"It wasn't that big of a deal." He looked down at the watch on his wrist and wondered if Jerry's daycare teacher had called Mellie yet. He was running fifteen minutes late.

"You stopped when no one else bothered, so it's a big deal in my book," She winked, leaning against her car and noting the glances he kept stealing at his watch, "And I have kept you from something important."

"It's no problem, really," He assured her, stuffing his hands in his pockets to stop his fidgeting. He didn't like to provoke fights with his wife. He would rather be flying planes into hostile territories again than fight with Mellie.

"Is there any way I can thank you?" He shook his head. He would have loved to stay and talk with her more, but he couldn't keep Jerry waiting anymore.

"I get it, you're late. Maybe we can exchange numbers? I'd feel awful about letting you walk away after doing this for me," She suggested, grinning when he nodded and pulled his phone from his pocket. He handed the touchscreen to the woman in front of him and she quickly typed a number in. Seconds later, a loud ding was heard.

"Great. Now you have my number and I have yours," She smiled, checking her phone.

"Sure. Call me anytime and we'll meet up," He threw out there, nodding at her.

"Just not right now," She smirked, heading toward the driver side door.

"Any other time, though," He agreed, walking toward his own vehicle. He waited until she had started her car and safely pulled back onto the highway before entering his own; throwing a hand up when she waved back at him. He watched her go and smiled. He started his vehicle and began the last ten minutes of the trip to the daycare.

He pulled into the parking lot of Tadpole Academy, cringing at the name and the site of a large tadpole looming over the entranceway. He wasn't a fan of the design or name of the daycare that Mellie had chosen for their son. It was ridiculous.

He climbed out of his vehicle, noting that his and the daycare provider's were the only ones in the nearly empty lot. He jogged to the entrance and pulled the door open, narrowing his eyes at the lily-pad design of the door handle.

He found Jerry crawling on the large, alphabet rug. He picked his son up, grinning as the tot wrapped his arms happily around his father's neck. The two Grant men said their goodbyes to the daycare provider and walked back to the vehicle.

* * *

"You were _**fifteen **_minutes late," Mellie Grant shouted, slamming her silver hairbrush on the wooden vanity as she twisted around to see her husband stepping out of the bathroom, a towel slung around his hips.

"I had problems with the car," Fitz defended, unwilling to mention that he had stopped to help someone else. Mellie would have jumped on that as a key point to plaster across his campaign until she found out he had stopped to help a woman. Her jealousy knew no bounds.

"I thought you just had it checked out?" She moved toward the bed, yanking the blankets down and climbing onto the soft mattress. She settled in against the pillows and watched Fitz move around the room, dressing in his pajamas.

"I had a blow-out," He explained, pulling the blue pajama bottoms over his hips and heading toward the nightstand. He unplugged his phone, setting his alarm before sitting it back down. He joined Mellie in their bed; pulling the blankets to his waist and laying on his back.

"That explains the ruination you have made of your pants." She never was happy about anything unless he was allowing her to run every minute of his life. There were times that Fitz swore to himself Mellie should be the one running for governor.

"Things happen," He sighed, finally letting the exhaustion creep into his voice. He and Mellie had been playing the perfectly happy, married couple for the last six months and it was tiring. Nothing about their marriage had been perfect since they had Jerry. They had both come to the conclusion that what they had was nothing more than puppy love – it wasn't the real thing. However the extent of their love neither was willing yet to let go. It made for many painful exchanges.

"You are such a pig at times," Mellie scoffed, turning her back to him and closing her eyes. Fitz lay there impatiently, waiting for Mellie's breathing to slow and even. He didn't wait long. After he was sure that his wife was sleeping, he tossed the blankets from his body and stood from the bed.

Grabbing his phone off the nightstand, Fitz headed toward Jerry's room. He cracked the door to the toddler's room and smiled at the sight of his son sleeping quietly in his crib, his thumb in his mouth. He placed a kiss on the little boy's forehead and left the room, leaving the door cracked a fraction of an inch. Jerry was afraid of the dark, but Mellie refused to allow the small child to sleep with a nightlight. She thought forcing him into darkness would build character. Fitz disagreed.

He headed toward the kitchen and poured himself a bowl of Cocoa Puffs. He sat at the island, savoring the chocolate taste that he craved at the moment. He stared at his phone, warring with himself over what to do. He tentatively reached a hand toward the cellphone before pulling it back in a hurry.

He crammed another bite of cereal into his mouth and slowly chewed. It felt like a ball of lead had taken residence in his lower intestine. He didn't know that he could feel so guilty about something that seemed so innocent.

He finished his cereal and took the bowl to the sink, washing it and hoping that he would have a clear answer to his predicament once he had finished. That wasn't the case. He turned back to the counter and took a deep breath. It was now or never.

Picking the phone up, he searched for his contacts and went through them until he found the one he was searching for. His thumb hesitated over the call button before he finally placed it heavily on the screen. After three rings, the person on the other end answered with a friendly hello. Fitz took a heavy breath before responding with:

"_Is this Olivia?" _


	2. Chapter 2

_Downfall_

_Chapter Two: From A Table Away_

"_Is this Olivia?"_ Fitz stood with his heart pounding in his chest and looked at the bright, green numbers displayed on the microwave above the stove. 12:15. He let off a string of silent curses at the time. She probably thought he was inconsiderate and a slew of other adjectives for calling so late.

"Fitzgerald Grant." Her breathy voice made him smile and he let go the breath he had been holding in as he leaned back against the counter.

"Is this a good time?" He asked, crossing his legs.

"No. I would say that midnight is as good a time as ever." Her chuckle eased the tension from his shoulders and caused a laugh to escape him as well.

"I couldn't sleep," He admitted.

"So you call a stranger?"

"Not a complete stranger."

"Fair enough."

"Can I take you upon that coffee?" He took the plunge, suddenly feeling the need to see her again. It was impulsive and crazy, but he had felt some sense of calm the hour or so he had spent with her earlier.

"Now?" She didn't bother to hide her disapproving tone and it didn't shock him. Calling her at midnight with that request was probably starting to sound like a random booty call.

"Not now. Later today. Noon?"

"That sounds better than now." She laughed, a hearty, genuine laugh.

"Are there even any coffee places open at this time?" He asked, moving to the island and sitting in a stool.

"Probably, but not the kind that politicians or normal citizens go to."

"You looked me up."

"It wasn't hard, _Representative _Grant," Olivia drawled, a smirk betraying itself in the tone of her voice.

"I was kind of hoping that wouldn't make its way into whatever this is." He rested his elbow on the counter, cradling his head in the palm of his hand and massaging his forehead.

"And what is this?" She probed.

"A frustrated guy looking for a friend?"

"That sounds more like a question than a statement."

"You are a bit of a hard ass, aren't you?" The statement came out without a second thought from its speaker. Something about the woman on the other end of the phone made him feel comfortable, as if they had been friends all their lives.

"Law school does that to people."

"So you're a lawyer?"

"No. I'm in law school."

"You never mentioned that before."

"You never mentioned your job title either." He grinned, a large, goofy grin. Banter with her was easy and natural.

"I guess there will be plenty to talk about tomorrow…"

"Later today." She cut him off and he shook his head, amused at her playfulness. He pushed himself away from the counter and walked toward the bay window, staring out at the dark night sky.

"Later today," He conceded, a yawn escaping involuntarily.

"Isn't it your bedtime?" She teased, yawning herself.

"I could ask you the same thing."

"I'm not the one yawning."

"Really? Do you want to be the pot or the kettle?"

"I'll see you tomorrow, _Representative _Grant."

"Coming from you, that doesn't sound that bad."

"Goodnight," She laughed.

"Goodnight." He couldn't wipe the smile from his face once he ended the phone call and slid the phone into the pocket of his pajama bottoms. His conversation with Olivia had been fun, relaxing.

He sighed and headed back to the room he shared with Mellie. He barely made it to the top stair before his feet froze on the hard wood. He threw one glance at his shut bedroom door and headed in the opposite direction to the den. He wasn't going to spoil a good night by crawling in bed next to his wife.

* * *

"You came." He sounded relived, but tried to cover it by quickly sipping his coffee only to spit the searing liquid out seconds later, leaving a wet patch on his shirt that would surely stain later. He glanced down in dismay and cursed himself. That wasn't the smoothest move he could make.

"Fitz, it is eleven fifty nine." She slid into the chair opposite his, nursing a caramel cappuccino.

"Fast watch," He tried to play it off; tried not to sound so eager.

"Uh huh," She grinned, sipping her drink.

"Sorry about waking you last night," He offered at last, trying to start a conversation.

"You didn't wake me. I was reading. Mid-term is coming up."

"Right. Law school. How many years do you have left?"

"Two. What about you?"

"What about me?" He watched her face, taking in the way her eyes shone – bright and fierce.

"Your career. Do you think you're going to win?"

"Is this some interview?" He tried avoiding the question, watching as she barely glanced down. He could tell that she wasn't one to back down and liked that about her.

"Not an interview. Friend to friend."

"So we're friends now?"

"Friendly-acquaintances. I don't let just _any _acquaintance call me at midnight," She winked, leaning back in her chair and crossing her long, stocking glad legs.

"Friends is fine by me," He laughed, sipping his coffee and, just when she thought he was finished speaking, said: "I don't know. I have a good team and they'll probably pull it off."

"You aren't sure if you want this."

"What are you? A mind reader too?" He watched as a small blush covered her cheeks.

"No, but I recognize when someone isn't sure of themselves."

"Experience?" He probed, leaning an elbow against the back of his chair and taking an open stance toward her.

"I wasn't sure that I wanted to be an attorney at first. My dad pushed me toward it and I refused to let myself give it a chance because I had been forced into it. When I stopped being so stubborn, I found that I liked it." He raised a brow at her, his eyes widening at her confession. How was it possible that he found it easier to relate to someone he barely knew than his own wife?

"My dad forced me into this. I guess I've never had the chance to decide if this is something that I would choose for myself…even if I do like it sometimes," He confided, shrugging and reaching for his coffee cup.

"Sometimes, you have to focus less on what others see of you and more on what you see of yourself."

He brought his bottom lip under his teeth and began chewing – a nervous habit he had picked up when he was younger. She had a valid point and she had given him better advice than Cyrus or Mellie ever had. She was open and willing to talk, unlike those two.

"Don't you think this is strange?" He asked, causing her gaze to snap up to meet his, her eyes narrowing.

"Strange?"

"I barely know you, yet I feel like I know you better than anyone else in my life," He elaborated.

"Because I listen?" She offered as an explanation.

"Probably." They let the silence take over from there, content to sit and sip their coffee without offering any more words. When they were finished, the walked together toward the large trash bin that sat by the door and threw their cups away. Fitz held the door open for Olivia and they stepped into the warm afternoon sunlight.

"Where are you parked?" Fitz asked, putting his hands in the pockets of his grey slacks.

"This way." She motioned to her left and began walking, Fitz falling into step beside her. They strolled down the sidewalk, making small talk and staring at the shop windows. It didn't take them long to cover the short distance to Olivia's Challenger.

Once she had unlocked the door, Fitz held it open while she slid into the driver's seat. She slid her keys into the ignition and looked up at him.

"Thanks for the coffee," She said, "Even though it was supposed to be _my _treat."

"Maybe next time," He stated, hoping that he hadn't overstepped his boundaries.

"There's going to be a next time?" She couldn't stop the smile from spreading across her face.

"Probably," He smirked, shutting her door and walking away. Olivia shook her head, snatched her sunglasses from the passenger seat, and took off down the road.

"You're late," Cyrus greeted the minute Fitz walked through the door, adjusting the sleeves of his blood red shirt.

"I had a thing," He offered somewhat vaguely as he moved past the older man to the glass doors that led to the conference room

"Your interview was supposed to have started thirty minutes ago." Cyrus wasn't letting up. Sometimes he could be as bad as Mellie.

"Cyrus, it's a taped interview. Not live. No harm in being late," Fitz shrugged it off, moving his hand to the silver handle.

"Which means we have thirty minutes less to review it before it airs," Cyrus complained, glowering at his boss.

"Thirty less minutes for you and Mellie to have your hands on my interview? Suddenly, I feel a lot better," He grinned and used his free hand to pat Cyrus on the shoulder before throwing the door open and moving to greet the journalist in the room.

Cyrus watched after him, a dumbfounded look on his face.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N – I typically do not address reviews in my stories other than to thank all the amazing people who took time out of their lives to tell me what they thought of my story; however, I am going to make an exception and address a review here.**

**First, the reason that it took Fitz and Mellie 18 years to have their first child has not been brought up in the story yet. It will eventually make its way in here, but I am not ready yet to reveal it. Call it suspense if you'd like.**

**Second, I believe that it has been quite explicit in this story that Fitz and Mellie do not like one another. Do they tolerate one another to an extent? Yes. But there is no love or even like and I would hope that such comments as Mellie calling Fitz a pig would have made that quite clear.**

**Lastly, just because a couple has a child does not mean that their marriage or relationship is perfect. As I recall, Fitz and Mellie have Teddy and it is quite obvious that their marriage was far from perfect when he was born. Furthermore, yes this does not match up exactly with the show, but that is not what an AU (alternate universe) story does.**

**So, without further ado, here is chapter three of **_**Downfall.**_ **– G.**

* * *

_Downfall_

_Chapter Three_

_People Are Strange_

Cyrus paced furiously in front of his desk, a fierce glare in his eyes. His hands worked intently at pulling the thin cap of hair on his head until his hair stuck out at every end, resembling a modern-day, pudgy Albert Einstein. He finally dropped his hands from his head and began furiously pulling at the black tie around his neck, loosening the constraining article and unbuttoning the top two buttons of his white shirt.

"We're losing him," He announced, stopping to look at the younger brunette seated behind his desk calmly drinking her coffee and making notes on a sheet of paper. To anyone who would have happened to glance in, Mellie appeared almost relaxed – unruffled by Cyrus's outbursts.

"How the hell are you so calm?" Cyrus stopped by the far wall, looking at Mellie with stupefied amazement. Cyrus wasn't alone in his desire to turn Fitz into governor to gain all the power and accolades that came with any association to the most powerful man in the state. If there was anyone who wanted Fitz to succeed more than Cyrus did – it was Mellie.

"I'm not worried." Her almost cheery disposition caused Cyrus to groan in frustration as he contemplated going on another rage fueled rant. He knew Mellie wasn't stupid and she generally was fantastic at observing the actions of others. It was what made her such a formidable opponent.

"He practically told me that he didn't want us touching his interview." Mellie's gaze snapped to where Cyrus stood at that comment. Her blue gaze narrowed with unadultered rage.

"When was this?" She demanded, setting her mug down with such ferocity that the red glass nearly shattered upon the impact. A large crack formed from top to bottom though not deep enough to render the mug out of commission. Nonetheless, it became the subject of Cyrus's line of sight as he answered Mellie's question.

"Yesterday. When he was thirty minutes late. He…"

"He was thirty minutes late?" Cyrus winced at her high-pitched squeal before begrudgingly nodding his head. "Why was I told that technical difficulties were to blame for the delay?"

"Who told you that?" It was becoming clear to both Cyrus and Mellie that they were not on the same page. In fact, it was looking more and more as if they weren't even in the same book.

"Lysa." She named one of the several people who were volunteering for Fitz's campaign and a look of unabashed rage marred her features as she uttered the one syllable name. Cyrus scrunched his brows at the information. What reason would Lysa have to lie to Mellie?

"Alright. Tell me all you know and I'll tell you what I know." He ran a wrinkled hand over his weathered face and slumped into the black leather chair placed in front of his desk.

"That _is _all I know." Mellie leaned back in the chair and crossed her arms under her voluminous breasts, silently demanding that Cyrus share all he knows.

"Like I said, he showed up late. He was practically skipping. I don't think I need to mention how _un_Fitz-like that was. His comment to my telling him he was late was that thirty less minutes for the two of us to have our hands on his interview made him feel a lot better." Cyrus ended his tale and waited for all the information to sink into Mellie's mind.

"Why would he say that?" She finally broke her silence to ask.

"Why would he be late or have Lysa lie to you?" Cyrus chose to answer her question with some of his own.

"Something strange is going on. Fitz is typically a lot more complacent," Mellie observed. For the past several years, since Fitz's father had forced him to first run for representative, he had allowed advisors to do his job. Fitz hadn't wanted to run for public office and once he did, he preferred to stay in the background, finding it easier to let Mellie do most of the work.

"We need to find out where he has been going," Cyrus stated, causing Mellie to nod her head vigorously in agreement.

"He's planning something and I have a feeling the outcome won't favor either of us."

* * *

"What are you doing now?" Fitz smiled into the receiver, leaning back into the supple leather of his desk chair and propping his feet onto his desk.

"Leaving class," The woman on the other line responded and he could hear a door slamming in the background as the wind began rustling in his ear.

"Have you had lunch?"

"Are you offering?"

"Possibly." He smirked and began tapping his feet against the red oak.

"Well if you're buying…" She trailed off, giggling.

"Who said I was buying?" He tried his best to sound offensive, confused, anything to throw her off guard. During their short amount of interactions, he had rarely gained the upper-hand during their banter. She was insanely good at thinking on her feet.

"I'm a poor college student so we all know I'm not paying." Of course she would have a retort ready and waiting for him.

"Did you spend your whole allowance on your wardrobe?" He had her there and she knew it. It wasn't hard for Fitz to pinpoint the cause of her lost allowances in the tailored suits she loved to wear.

"Hardy har har. They say to dress for the part you want." Her response was weak and she knew; opting to change the topic immediately after, "Where are we having lunch?"

"It depends," He grinned, thinking of his next statement, "Where would the financially challenged one care to eat?"

"What's that supposed to mean?" Her mock affronted tone nearly had him burst out in laughter – a sure fire way to ruin his next comment. Taking a calming breath and mustering the most straight-faced approach he could, he responded with:

"That I wouldn't hire you to be my accountant?"

She laughed at that. When he decided to bring his A-game, he most certainly did. She knew there was no possibility of regaining a foothold after that onslaught of good-natured barbs. Her stomach let out a low growl and her next topic was decided for her.

"How about The Waterboy?" She suggested, beginning to feel the unpleasant pangs of hunger gnawing at her stomach.

"The French place on Capitol Avenue?" He double checked. He had never been – Mellie refused to eat anywhere that didn't have a dress code, whether stated or implied, and didn't cost him an arm and a leg. Still, he had heard the restaurant was good and looked forward to giving it a try.

"That's the one."

"I'll see you there in twenty minutes?"

"Alright. See you soon – and don't forget your wallet." She hung up, leaving a grin on Fitz's face and a sparkle in his blue eyes.

He began humming to himself as he stood, stuffing his phone and wallet into his pockets. He grabbed his keys, deciding to forego the suit jacket. It was almost always too hot for it and he wasn't sure why he ever bothered bringing one to begin with. Then he remembered the fight he and Mellie had gotten into several years ago about the unpolished look not wearing a suit jacket presented to his constituents. He had given in only for the sake of stopping the nails on a chalkboard sound that he likened to Mellie's voice during arguments.

He stopped to stare at the black cloth that was slung of his desk chair – material that suddenly represented a whole host of lost battles with Mellie. Without much thought, he yanked the jacket from the chair and stuffed it in the wicker wastebasket that sat by his desk. He would be damned if he ever wore one of those without his express desire again and – for a brief, blessed moment of lost control, he considered setting fire to the wooden trashcan and all its contents.

His head snapped to the doorway at the sound of the knob twisting. Mellie's face – oozing classic American beauty alongside an interesting combination of innocence and determination, served only to darken Fitz's mood.

"Can I help you?" His tone was cold, uninviting. The promise of lunch with Olivia made him even less eager than normal to carry on any pointless conversation with Mellie. His gaze travelled unbidden to the wastebasket and its contents. Had he been able to contain his eagerness in regards of symbolically discarding that jacket he would have made it out of his office without having to suffer through this encounter.

Mellie's gaze followed Fitz's and she screwed her face up at the black sleeve hanging haphazardly out of the wastebasket. "What did you do to your clothes now?"

Fitz pursed his lips at her condescending tone. She sounded like a disappointed mother scolding her son.

"What I do with my clothes doesn't concern you."

She looked taken aback but recovered quickly with, "We can stop by the house and grab another on the way to lunch. I really don't understand how you are so rough on your wardrobe."

"It happens when you do something other than stand around looking like an overprivileged, overpriced statue." He reveled in the way she stiffened her back and began fidgeting with the strap of her purse. He had Mellie on edge and it felt good.

"Now if you will excuse me, I already made arrangements for lunch." He sauntered past her, yanking his sunglasses from the small table situated by the door, mainly used for mail.

"I've had this lunch with Senator Brown planned for weeks," Mellie whined, silently rejoicing when Fitz turned at the doorway and looked at her.

He sighed and dropped his hand from the silver doorknob. He ambled over to where she stood, stopping a few inches from her body.

Mellie's heartbeat sped up as she felt him sliding back into her grip – where he belonged. She closed the gap between the two, tilting her head back and letting her warm breath mingle with his. She smiled when he bent his head, his lips not quite brushing her earlobe.

And to think that Cyrus was worried. Maybe Fitz had had a slight lapse; a mistaken vision of succeeding without them, but he had come to his senses. After all, he was their boy.

"Maybe you should have told me before I made plans. Have fun, Mellie." He winked at her, enjoying the look on her face as his words sunk in. He didn't waste much time watching her expression before leaving the room.

She watched him go, her cheeks flaming at the indignation and realization that her seemingly obsequious husband wasn't so obsequious after all. She stomped to Fitz's desk and picked up the phone, punching a familiar extension on the keypad.

She waited until she heard the receiver being picked up on the other end before uttering one line:

"Code red."

* * *

"Sorry I'm late," Fitz apologized, seating himself at the white topped table and opening the menu.

"Just ten minutes. No big deal," Olivia shrugged, perusing her own menu.

"It was a bit of a dick move." He didn't take his gaze off the menu, yet insisted on continuing with his unwanted apology. He felt he owed it to her.

"I think the real issue here is did you bring your wallet?" She arched an eyebrow in his direction, trying to lighten the mood and get him to cease with the apologies.

Without saying a word, Fitz dug his wallet from his pocket and deliberately laid it in front of Olivia. She giggled before sliding the black, leather rectangle back. He laughed along, slipping the wallet back into his pocket.

"Good to know I won't have to wash dishes this trip," She winked, "Can we order now?"

"Someone is impatient." Fitz motioned for a waiter, watching as a perky blonde in black slacks and a white button-up began to make her way toward them.

"I missed breakfast," She informed him.

"You skipped the most important meal of the day?" His mock tone of bewilderment caused her to burst into a fit of giggles that she had trouble containing once the waitress appeared.

"Are you ready to order?" The waitress's thick, Southern accent was a clear indicator that she was not a native of the area.

"I'll have the Grilled Spring Lamb," Olivia stated, watching as her order was written down.

"And I'll have the Steak du jour." The waitress bopped her head as she wrote.

"And what can I get y'all to drink?"

"Malbec, if you have it," Olivia spoke up and the waitress nodded, heading off to place their orders.

"How's school going?" Fitz asked once their wine had been placed before them.

"Two mid-terms are done. Three more to go." She took a sip of her wine, savoring the taste. He watched her, enjoying the look of pure pleasure that flitted across her face.

"What are you doing for spring break?" He wondered, inhaling the mouth-watering aromas drifting from their plates as they were placed before them.

"I haven't given it much thought," She admitted, bringing a piece of her lamb to her mouth, moaning at the taste.

"Want to volunteer on my campaign? Lord knows I could use some semblance of an intelligent life-form." Now it was his turn to sigh as he bit into his steak. Olivia had picked an amazing place to eat.

"Do I want to spend my break with old men debating political tactics?" For a moment, he thought she was going to refuse, but then a grin crossed her face, "Everyone else in my class will be envious."

He felt like dancing at the new found joy spreading through his body once the woman before him accepted his offer. Instead of making a fool of himself by showcasing his horrible dance skills, he settled for a smile and a simple, "Awesome."

* * *

Later, as the two sat sharing their desserts of Affogato and Chocolate Mousse, a figure in dark clothes with a powerful camera snapped away at the two unknowing friends.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N – I want to thank all of you for your truly fantastic reviews. I was thinking that we could do contests per chapter where I ask a question and the first three who respond correctly will get a sneak peek of the following chapter. Is there anyone who would be game for this? **

**This chapter does end with a cliffhanger – it didn't get cut off. I didn't want to make the chapter any longer and had to make a decision to end it somewhere. – G.**

"**Nous ne sommes qu'aux des autres et c'est à partir du regard des autres que nous nous assumons comme nous." – Jean-Paul Sartre**

* * *

_Downfall_

_Chapter Four_

_Paparazzi_

_Beep. Beep. Beep._

Olivia groaned and rolled over in her bed, slamming her fist against the alarm clock and tangling her legs in the satin sheets. She stumbled as she stood from the bed before kicking her legs free of the deep violet material.

Her phone buzzed and she turned her attention to the slim device. Three missed calls and seven text messages. She shook her head – no doubt they were added attempts made by her friends to get her to join them for spring break. They could wait until after her morning ritual.

Grabbing a pair of jeans and a light, grey sweater, she headed toward her bathroom and the shower that waited for her there. The warm water felt good as it sluiced against her tired muscles. She grabbed for her sandalwood scented body wash, inhaling the intoxicating scent as she rubbed it into her skin.

Her morning routine took a little longer than normal – she had spent a few extra minutes under the warm water than she usually would. Stepping out from under the now lukewarm spray, goosebumps began peppering Olivia's otherwise smooth skin as she hurriedly wrapped a grey towel around her shivering body. It didn't take her long to dress and make her way to her kitchen and the steaming pot of coffee waiting for her.

As she sat nursing a warm mug between her hands, the blinking of her phone caused her to turn her head toward the device. She sighed and finally reached a hand out to pick the slim phone up. Unlocking the screen, she began scrolling through her several text messages.

"Where are you?"

"Have you seen the paper?"

"Well now I know why you wouldn't go on a date with me…awkward." The text from the resident bad boy at Lincoln, Mason, had Olivia furrowing her brows. What was that supposed to mean? She sighed and continued on to her next and final text – from her best friend.

"Olivia Carolyn Pope, you little slut! I didn't think you had it in you! Call me?"

Olivia shook her head. What was she missing? Something happened that had set everyone on edge and she didn't like the sinking feeling that that something involved her. Deciding to get straight to the point, she began dialing.

"Olivia," Chloe's loud, shrill shriek caused Olivia to pull the phone back from her ear a few inches, "Why did you tell me you were seeing someone? As your best friend, I find that offensive."

Olivia laughed at the pout that had made its way into Chloe's voice – she had always been a tad immature and wild, but that only seemed to balance out Olivia's personality. On the surface, their friendship didn't make much sense to anyone but them.

"I'm not seeing anyone." Olivia finally settled the phone back against her ear, confident that there wouldn't be any more squealing on her friend's part. Chloe loved drama and Olivia was certain that the beginning of the conversation had nothing to do with Chloe's hurt over being kept in the dark about some supposed secret but more to do with her need to cause a scene for most everything.

"Really?" Chloe's shocked tone only added fuel to Olivia's confusion, "Because the front page of the paper would disagree."

"What are you talking about?"

"You haven't seen the paper?"

"No…" Olivia wondered what the sudden enthusiasm for the morning paper was about. Chloe rarely read anything except the glossy pages of whatever magazine currently interested her and occasionally her textbooks half-way through the semester when she began worrying that she might actually fail. Not that it would happen – Chloe had her ways of making sure she passed. Ways that Olivia didn't approve.

"Are you dressed?"

"Yes?"

"Good. Now go to your front door, open it, and get the paper," Chloe commanded and Olivia stood from her kitchen table, taking heavy, slow steps toward her front door. She was suddenly apprehensive about what she would find on the other side.

"Why did you ask if I was dressed?" She asked, trying to break the tension that was causing her muscles to bulk at every little movement she made.

"Because you're my friend and I didn't want you to be _that _weirdo who opens the door in their underwear to get the morning paper."

"You really think I would do that?" Olivia snorted. Chloe never ceased to amaze her.

"Well no but I thought it wouldn't hurt to check, you know?" Olivia's hand found the doorknob and she twisted, throwing the wooden door open and grabbing the paper from the black mat outside. She noticed one of her neighbors, the young mother across the hall, giving her a disapproving look as she hurried back into her apartment, clutching the newspaper to her chest. She took one look at the front page before exploding into the phone, causing Chloe to squeal in pain and almost drop her phone from her ear.

"What the hell is this?"

"If I knew the answer to that, do you really think I would be asking you?" Chloe's sarcasm caused Olivia to smirk through her anger.

"You don't believe this do you?"

"Let's see, would I believe the paparazzi over my best friend?" Chloe paused, pretending to think for a minute before calling out over her shoulder, "Mason, should I believe this jackass journalist or Olivia?"

"You brought _Mason_ in on this?" Olivia groaned. Mason Hart, to the outside world, was charming, rich, and intelligent. Everything a girl should want. To Olivia, he was arrogant and egotistical – always trying to by what he wants and never working for it. He had become her own personal shadow their first year at Lincoln and couldn't seem to take no for an answer. It was infuriating and Chloe's infatuation with him only seemed to fuel him in his attempt to win Olivia. He seemed to thrive on playing games with everyone's emotions.

"He was here when I saw the paper," Chloe admitted and at least she had the decency to seem somewhat apologetic.

"I'm not having an affair," Olivia stated, staring down in disgust at the picture that glared back at her from the morning paper. It was an innocent enough looking picture of she and Fitz sharing lunch, but of course the media hadn't portrayed it as that.

"I don't doubt that. I mean we are talking about _the _Olivia Pope here. She spends too much time reading and studying to care about _boys_," Chloe giggled and Olivia stuck her tongue out at her friend's description of her, even though Chloe couldn't see the gesture.

"But seriously, Liv, how do you know him?"

Olivia sighed. The truth was the best course to take here and she could trust Chloe. She couldn't trust Mason, but she could trust Chloe. "Are you still near Mason?"

"Yes?"

"Then I'm not telling you anything."

"Ugh. You are impossible. Hold on." Olivia waited impatiently as she heard Chloe shooing Mason from the room. It took a few minutes, but finally Chloe, sounding out of breath, began speaking once more:

"Okay."

"Remember when I was late to class three weeks ago?" She didn't wait for a response, expecting Chloe to remember the unusual occurrence. Olivia was never late for class. "I had a flat. Fitz…"

"You call him Fitz?"

"Can I continue?"

"Please do."

"Fitz stopped and helped me. We exchanged numbers – we were both in a hurry and I felt it was only right to thank him. We went for coffee and I don't know…we kind of hit it off. In a mentor way not a romantic way," Olivia tried downplaying what she wasn't entirely sure of – the nature of her relationship with Fitz.

"You are in deep shit." Olivia sighed. Chloe always had a way of summing things up that not only made her feel worse about any situation, but were also irrefutable.

* * *

"What happened to you having this all under control?" Cyrus gloated, perched on the corner of his desk with the morning paper resting on his knee as he watched Mellie for the tiniest reaction.

"Nothing's changed," Mellie asserted, but her voice wavered. A lot had changed. She barely knew Fitz anymore. He hadn't spoken much to her since yesterday and his abrupt departure, leaving her to brave lunch with Senator Brown and later dinner with Cyrus by herself had her frowning. Fitz was becoming wild, unpredictable and Mellie did not like that.

"I wish I could believe you. I _want _to believe you, but to do that would be to allow Fitz to slip from between our fingers while we sit here with our hands tied." For once Cyrus sounded tired, exhausted by the idea of losing. His gaze traveled back to the paper and Mellie's followed.

"Who is this girl?" Mellie jabbed her finger at the paper, her eyes flashing with an anger that did nothing but contrast with her beautiful, composed features. But Mellie wasn't composed. She was far from it and Cyrus could sense it. She had been in a foul mood since she first saw the picture of the young, beautiful woman with her husband.

"I don't have an answer for that. I have my people looking into it – trying to dig up a name, but Mellie, we have to be patient."

"Have you talked to Fitz about _her_?" Mellie wrinkled her nose, her tone speaking of the unnamed woman as if she were a disease that Mellie would gladly rid herself of if she could.

"I haven't seen Fitz," Cyrus admitted, looking at Mellie with wide eyes.

"He hasn't been with you?"

"No. I thought he was with you."

"I haven't seen him since yesterday afternoon. He never came home last night." Mellie at least had the courtesy to look panicked. Fitz had never gone missing on them before and neither knew how to handle the situation. It didn't take long for Cyrus to dig his phone out of his pocket, but he was too slow for Mellie who had already dialed Fitz's number and was impatiently tapping her foot as she listened to the ringing, waiting for Fitz to pick up. She sighed in frustration when she got his voicemail instead.

Cyrus shook his head as she unleashed a torrent of curse words. He ignored her ranting, holding his phone to his ear and listening to the same ringing that Mellie had listened to only seconds earlier. Within seconds the ringing had stopped. Unlike Mellie; however, Cyrus was greeted by Fitz's cold voice.

"What do you want?"

"Where are you?" Mellie's attention snapped to Cyrus when she heard his words and she began calling out questions in rapid succession.

"He answered _your_ call? Where is he? What is he doing? Has he seen the paper? Who is that girl?" Cyrus held his hand up, silencing Mellie with one look. She huffed and flopped into her seat in the most ungraceful way possible, folding her arms over her chest.

"What. Do. You. Want?" Fitz repeated his question with tight, clipped words – refusing to give into Cyrus's demands. It was childish, he knew but he was at a breaking point with his supposed best friend and was tired of being pushed around like some damn puppet.

"No one can find you." Cyrus tried a different approach. Instead of demanding to know where Fitz was, he would take the concerned friend angle. It had always worked before and Cyrus had no reason to believe that it wouldn't work this time.

"That sounds pleasant." Fitz's offhand comment took Cyrus by surprise. He stood with his mouth hanging open; gasping for words like a fish for water. He tried to listen to all the background noises he could hear from Fitz's end, but the sound of traffic and children laughing did nothing to clue him in on where his errant friend happened to be.

"Give me some kind of hint," Cyrus finally begged. He wasn't the type of man to get down and grovel, but he also wasn't the kind of man to lose what he wanted most because of some misplaced pride. If it took begging to find Fitz's location then beg he would.

"A hint? Hm…here's one for you, and you can pass it along to Mellie too," Fitz began.

"Mellie isn't –"

"I'm not stupid, Cyrus. I know she's there with you. When you two decide to stop gossiping about me like a couple of scorned high school lovers, you can look at my schedule and you will know exactly where I am." He didn't wait for a response, gleefully ending the call and effectively shutting Cyrus out once more.

"Well?" Mellie demanded the moment Cyrus sat his phone on his desk.

"Do you have a copy of his schedule?"

"In my office. Why?"

"Just get it, Mellie," Cyrus snapped, running a hand over his face as Mellie narrowed her eyes in his direction. The look that Cyrus threw in her direction soon had her scrambling for her office. It didn't take her long to locate the paper she was looking for and bring it to Cyrus.

"I thought you were in charge of his schedule," Cyrus grumbled as he glanced over the paper Mellie had handed him.

"I was until he sent his secretary around with a new copy this morning. Do not ask how or when he got the time to completely undo what I had done."

"I don't like this," Cyrus observed, scanning the paper until he found the 1:30 slot, "He's at the opening of a park downtown."

"Let's go," Mellie commanded, already heading for the door.

* * *

"Thank you for being with us today, Representative." An older brunette said as she shook Fitz's hand.

"_Thank _you for having me. The children seem to enjoy this. It will be a nice place for them to play," Fitz grinned. For the first time in months he found himself enjoying a campaign stop. He should have taken the schedule into his own hands years ago – after his first campaign.

He stood silently listening to the men and women around prattle on about the park and what an improvement it would be to the community. When the conversation began to grow listless, he gracefully excused himself and found a place underneath a shady oak tree to observe his surroundings. His peaceful observations didn't last long before they were shattered by the ringing of his phone. He groaned when he read the name on the screen – he would rather deal with Cyrus again.

"Hi dad," He greeted as cheerfully as he could. The amount of time he had spent the last few weeks messing with Mellie and Cyrus was taking a toll on his energy. He didn't feel like he had any left to argue with his father.

"I never thought I would be saying this to you, but what the hell?" Jerry Grant bellowed into the phone. His tone wasn't as menacing as it typically was when he spoke to his son – in fact he sounded nearly giddy with pride. That confused Fitz to no end as he tried to think of what he could have possibly done to make his father proud and what he could subsequently do to dispel that pride.

"I'm not even going to pretend like I know what you're talking about." Fitz's shoulders slumped as he waited for his father to respond.

"I have to admit, I never thought you would be the kind to have a mistress, but to flaunt her in town? Come on, son. You can do better than that." Fitz groaned. He knew that Jerry was talking about the morning paper and that photo of himself with Olivia. He hated how the media had turned an innocent meal with a friend into something it wasn't. Now he had to think of some way to wiggle himself out of the impending carnage.

"I don't…"

"Nonsense. You chose well too! She's a looker," Jerry interrupted and Fitz shook his head.

"She's not my mistress," He stated in a harsh tone.

"Then why were you having lunch with her?" Fitz hated how his father, the misogynist that he was, could not understand a friendship between a man and woman when he saw it. Knowing that he would never get his father to understand, Fitz told a lie that he hoped he would have the guts to make true.

"She's my new campaign manager. I'm announcing it this evening."

"And for a second there, I thought you really were my son after all." Jerry sounded disappointed and it came as no shock to Fitz when he hung up seconds later.

* * *

"Olivia, we need to talk." The stern look on Eli's face, coupled with his authoritative tone, had Olivia almost cowering in front of her father – transporting her back to a time when she was younger and had no choice but to follow her father's every instruction.

"Okay," She mumbled, opening the door further and allowing him entrance to her small apartment. She had a sinking feeling that she knew what this conversation would be about and she had no idea how to respond to any question or accusation he threw her way.

Eli followed her to the small living room, sitting in a grey, overstuffed sofa as Olivia perched on the chair across from him. She sat on the edge, as if she were readying herself to run at any moment. She could practically feel a cold sweet break out across her brow as she waited for her father to speak.

"How could you? You have a brilliant career ahead of you and you throw it away to be some man's _mistress_?" Eli spat the word at his only child. He looked at her as if she had grown another head and become an atrocity to society – she certainly was one to his carefully laid out future.

"I'm not his mistress," Olivia barely managed to choke out, casting her eyes to the floor. An unusually submissive move for the strong-willed woman, but she found it difficult to be anything but submissive when it came to her father.

"Then what are you? Because none of this is looking too good for you right now. It's almost as if you don't care about…" He was cut off by a swift knocking on the door. Olivia let out a breath of relief and silently thanked whoever had been kind enough to interrupt her father's tirade. She stood from the chair, excusing herself, and headed straight for the door – nearly skipping.

She frowned when she swung the door open to reveal a flustered Fitz on the other side. She was flustered and didn't know how she would explain this to her father. Nonetheless, she invited him in – with a look of warning as she led him to the sofa where her father was.

Quickly putting two and two together, Fitz put on his most charming smile as he stuck his hand out to shake Eli's. The two men stared at each other for longer than necessary. The awkwardness of the situation was as thick as morning fog.

"It's nice to meet you, Mr. Pope," Fitz grinned, casting his eyes sideway to see Olivia looking as worried as ever, "I'm pleased to have your daughter on board as my campaign manager."

Olivia's heart stopped for a moment before quickly resuming its normal pace. Campaign manager? Was he out of his mind? There were plenty of older, more experienced people who deserved that title and he was thrusting it on her? Not that she was complaining.

"When did this happen?" Eli's voice was hard, still unsure if he believed the two.

"Yesterday during our lunch meeting – which the press has been kind enough to blow out of portion for me." Fitz chuckled and Olivia narrowed her eyes. How was he so calm?

"And you are going to make it right, correct? My daughter has a bright future ahead of her, Representative, and these rumors cannot continue."

"Of course," Fitz nodded, allowing his shoulders to relax at what he presumed to be the older man's complete compliance with their story.

"Good," Eli gave a tight smile, "Now would you care to explain why you are visiting my daughter at her home?"


End file.
